


World Enough, and Time

by Melody_Of_The_River



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Russia Revolution, Angst, Bottom Erwin Smith, Hurt/Comfort, Its not as historical as it sounds trust me, M/M, Rough Sex, Russian Erwin Smith, Russian Levi Ackerman, Yes I am aware 'Erwin Smith' and 'Levi Ackerman' dont sound like Russian names, dont at me please, russian civil war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 17:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17451242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Of_The_River/pseuds/Melody_Of_The_River
Summary: 1922. Russia. The war is at the cusp of ending. 12 million people have died already. The Bolshevik rule over the newly created Soviet Union is all but assured. The people want someone to pin the death and destruction on. A lonely Commander has his last conversation with his Captain.





	World Enough, and Time

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is a very, touchy subject in history for people all over Russia, Central Asia and the Sovereign states that gained independence after 1989. This fic, is not meant to glorify the horrors of the Russian Revolution (1917- 1923). It is only meant as a character study for what Erwin and Levi would have been like and how they would have acted if they were military men in that time. Please don't take this fic too personally, I only tried to explore this era from the minds of what history considers villains. Thank you for reading this, and enjoy. :)
> 
> Fic title comes from a line from the poem "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell: "Had we but world enough, and time..."
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for more Eruri. I'm at [melodyoftheriver](https://melodyoftheriver.tumblr.com/) . Please leave a comment if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers @mnad96 at [tumblr](https://mnad96.tumblr.com/) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnad96/pseuds/mnad96) and @crownlessk-ing on [tumblr](https://tidal-sehnsucht.tumblr.com/) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessk_ing/pseuds/crownlessk_ing) .

Eleven o’clock morphs into twelve, morphs into one, and then two… Erwin marks the passage of every second only with the low hum of clocks buzzing around him, their ticks solemn and morbid, like they, too, are aware of what today holds; but with Levi, as they are right now - facing each other, naked, their legs crossed on the mattress and a chessboard spread between them - time has begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain.

 

“It’s your move, Erwin,” Levi speaks softly.

 

Erwin does not realize how intensely he has been staring at his Captain. When he first met him - nearly ten years ago, now - Erwin was a mere Lieutenant in the Imperial Army, and Levi a Private, newly appointed to his squad. In the midst of the Great War, they had barely enough time to memorise each other’s names - much less, anything else. But so much has happened since then. Shifting allegiances, crumbling regimes, a revolution that has spun twelve million casualties already - that now, Erwin shudders to imagine all that time and all that chaos without Levi by his side. Levi: his Assistant Commander, but Erwin will never call him as anything but _his Captain_ . His right hand man, but Erwin will never call him as anything but _his lover_ . His sword in battle, but Erwin will never call him as anything but _his soul_.

 

Erwin loves, and hates, what time has done to them - to Levi. Ten years ago, Levi was just another disillusioned soldier who only wanted to get over with the war so he could go back to his two best friends in Petrograd. But when the war ended - taking Erwin’s right arm, and Levi’s _family_ with it - Levi had no other place to rest, except at Erwin’s side.

 

Erwin feels like he snatched away Levi’s dream of a quiet, peaceful life from him - replacing it instead, with one of his own: the dream of a liberation, of a deliverance for his people. Whether Levi ever came to share his goals and his objectives, Erwin will never know. But he finds that he does not care that much when Levi rewards him so generously with his mind, his body, his strength, and his perseverance. He finds it hard to feel guilty when he sees Levi’s life as completely entwined with his, as Erwin’s is with Levi’s.

 

Now, as he stares at the man who he has loved, who has followed him unquestioningly with the loyalty of a brother and the passion of an unrelenting lover, Erwin sees the effect - of time and himself - on Levi. His hair has more gray in it than Erwin noticed before, and if it is just a perk of age or something Erwin is responsible for - as reckless as he is - he does not know. Erwin is such a selfish lover. Taking, and taking, and taking, too fixated on one solitary goal to notice how the trials of time have withered Levi’s skin.

 

Until today. The day that he is supposed to die.

 

Erwin wants to laugh, and cry, and weep at the irony. But he won’t. Because there’s just no more time left.

 

Erwin muffles an apology, too distracted by his lover’s presence to care anymore about the game they’re playing. He moves his rook four places to the right and picks up Levi’s black pawn, placing it softly beside the board.

 

“Tch,” Levi exclaims, “That was a bad move.” He does not raise his eyes to meet Erwin’s, only moves his bishop diagonally four places, swiftly knocking over Erwin’s rook. The game will be over in a few moves and there are already so many white pieces on Levi’s side of the board - what’s one more?

 

“You’re losing your touch, Erwin.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Erwin moves his Queen to the right, where Levi’s Knight can take him, not caring if he wins this game anymore.

 

“What the fuck kind of move is that?” Levi huffs, annoyed, glancing up at Erwin’s eyes once, before looking away, as if scorched. He turns his gaze back to the board, placing the Queen onto the ever-rising pile of white pieces near his side.

 

“If you’re not going to be serious about this -” he starts.

 

“Levi,” Erwin interrupts him. “Please look at me.”

 

Levi pauses, halfway in the process of moving his knight to the place of Erwin’s Queen, and looks up, just for a moment. Erwin sees the hurt and the conflict in his eyes - and he is reminded all of a sudden of the day that he had first told him of his plan.

 

 _“It is the only way,”_ he had reasoned, “ _The only way this war will end. I have to be the last piece. The last one to fall.”_

 

Levi had cursed at him, and spat at him, and called him every insult in the book. “ _You wanna die that fucking badly, huh?_ ” Levi had hissed, then pulled out a knife from his boot, _“Come on, I’ll do it, then. It’ll have more fucking meaning than you dying for this godforsaken war.”_

 

_“Levi, please -”_

 

“ _What the fuck is wrong with you, Erwin!_ ” Levi had shoved him back, beaten his fists into his chest, kept the knife at his throat. And Erwin, who had realized long ago how empty Levi’s threats were when it came to him, had only wrapped his arms around the man’s small figure, not caring about the blade digging into his Adam’s apple and drawing blood.

 

 _“Let me go, Erwin. Let me go! Let me… please_ ,” his voice had broken into a sob, and his grip on the knife had slowly loosened, “ _Please, just. Let me go_ ,” he had buried his head in Erwin’s armpit. “ _Don’t ever let me go.”_

 

It hurt, to see Levi like that, but it hurt even more to see him like this - an almost dead expression on his face, his eyes red and swollen from all the tears he had shed in his arms earlier.

 

“Just play the damned game, Erwin,” he scolded, looking away from him again, “Just… let me pretend.”

 

Erwin does not argue, nods understandingly, and makes yet another suicidal move on the chessboard.

 

It is like, when he is with him, there exists nothing else besides the two of them, and the soft mattress beneath them. Even though Erwin is faintly aware of the chiming of the clock as it indicates another hour gone; with Levi, time becomes dimensionless - if such a thing is possible by the laws of physics (and Erwin swears that, with Levi, it is). They could be sitting here together, playing game after game after game, until the whole universe ended - and time would be just as meaningless. As long as neither of them spoke the truth out loud.

 

Levi makes his move, and the game is dangerously close to a checkmate for Erwin. He doesn’t know what they’ll do after that. Play another game, maybe? Only for him to lose again? Go to sleep?

 

Another turn passes, and by this point, Erwin is not even faintly interested in what kind of war the pieces on the board are waging against one another. Levi’s arms are folded over his lap, shielding his modesty from view. His pale arms and legs, sweaty from all their previous activities, glisten in the moonlight from the windows of Erwin’s room. His face is contorted in focus and concentration, though he and Erwin both know that there is no way that Erwin can come back from this. Maybe he still thinks Erwin is holding a trick up his sleeve, just waiting to blindside him with a move that should be downright impossible. But it’s Erwin, so Levi will accept it anyway, like he accepts everything else about him. He will forget this, and they will move on, forward - always, forward - hand in hand.

 

But it’s three a.m. and Erwin does not have the heart in him to tell Levi the truth.

 

It takes one more bad move and Levi lands his Queen right next to Erwin’s King, and declares, “Checkmate”.

 

Erwin laughs, “Well played.”

 

Levi rolls his eyes, “No. It wasn’t.”

 

He looks sad, disappointed almost, his eyes finally looking up at Erwin, searching his face for the signs of a treachery. Erwin smiles, amused; Levi looks so helpless right now, like a child who just discovered that _Koschie_ the Deathless, too, could die.

 

“What?” he asks Erwin bluntly.

 

“Nothing.”

 

Levi tsks, and before Erwin can realize what is happening, the man has thrown the chess board off the mattress, the pieces tumbling with it, and has locked his lips with Erwin’s in a bruising, searing kiss. Erwin lets him.

 

Levi pushes Erwin down on his back - one of the chess pieces still on the bed, digging painfully into it - and mindlessly grabs a pillow or two to place beneath Erwin’s hips to elevate them. The time for exploration is gone; they both already know each other’s bodies like the back of their own hands - no, better than that. But still, despite the ten years Erwin has had to remember Levi’s touch, he wants his hands to linger.

 

But there’s just no more time left.

 

Levi spits into his hand, slicking up his length, and hoists Erwin’s legs up into his arms. But he doesn’t look at him, and Erwin aches to see, how he knows Levi’s pupils are dilating because of him, almost drowning out the gray, as he enters him with a harsh grunt, and a long swift stroke.

 

It hurts. Too much, in fact, and Erwin can’t help but keep his cries of discomfort muffled. But it’s okay, he deserves this. Deserves it for putting the only man he loves - the only man he has ever loved - through… _this_. It’s alright, he will take it; take the pain - like he has always taken everything - swallow it, make it a part of himself. So Levi does not have to. He only asks for one thing, and at this point, it may be the most selfish request he has ever made, but he makes it anyway.

 

“Levi,” Erwin sobs, “Please, look at me.”

 

Levi does not; his eyes are rigid, locked below, at where the two of them are joined.

 

“Levi, please look at me,” Erwin begs him, twists his spine so he can align their faces. Levi still looks away.

 

“Levi, please,” Erwin’s hand rests on his neck, coaxing it towards him, but the man’s stance is unrelenting. Erwin wishes he had his other hand so he could pull his face towards him.

 

“Please.” It’s a whimper now, a prayer, a dying man’s last request.

 

And when Levi finally does look, Erwin wishes he hadn’t asked.

 

His eyes are welling up with tears, making the blue-gray irises shine even brighter in the moonlight; his lips, are bleeding from where he has bitten down on them too strongly, in an effort to quieten his own pleas; and his expression is like something vital has suddenly broken inside of him. And it tortures Erwin that he does not know how to fix it or put it back together.

 

Levi sobs against Erwin’s forehead. “Erwin…” he moans, but there is no pleasure in it, just pure, persistent pain. He mashes their lips together, and the taste of metal bleeds into Erwin’s mouth.

 

His thrusts become faster, and Erwin hates himself for finding pleasure in them, can’t stop himself from pushing his hips back against Levi’s torso, clawing out even more desperate pleas from Levi’s throat. He’s destroying him, as he has done all his life - from the moment they had met each other, in fact - and still, _still,_ he finds it so hard to feel guilty.

 

Levi’s eyes remain shut, tightly, refusing to look at Erwin’s face, lest it be the last time. And Erwin’s hand is still rooted against Levi’s jaw, anchoring his face towards him, licking away the blood that continues to ooze from his lips, and the tears that trickle down his cheeks. They’re barrelling towards the end - an end neither of them wants to face, but crave, too, with every fibre of their being. Erwin doesn’t want to touch himself, doesn’t want to find pleasure in Levi’s misery. But it comes anyway, with fiery, blistering intensity that leaves his toes curling, his spine arching and his body spasming, convulsing around him with steady, rhythmic clenches that has Levi burning with him, too.

 

It’s over too soon, even though Erwin wishes he could keep burning like the Devil that he is, until only his ashes remained. His limbs ache from the exertion, but he wants them to keep aching, keep hurting - anything to lessen Levi’s distress, his anguished stares that are cutting gashes into Erwin’s very soul.

 

Levi sits back on his elbows, then, and looks at him with the devastation of a man who has felt every possible emotion in the span of a few minutes, and with the desolation of a man who has spent everything he could possibly have to give.

 

“Levi,” Erwin whispers then, pulling himself up on his arm to meet the man’s gaze, whose face still gleams beautifully with the tears that have run lines down his cheeks. He extends his arm towards him, his hand enveloping Levi’s left cheek, thumb rubbing away the dampness. Levi relaxes into his palm, and closes his eyes.

 

“Levi,” Erwin repeats himself.

 

This was not how today was supposed to go. They were supposed to keep lying to each other, keep pretending and playing games - like lovers do - until the sun came up. But reality had been too unforgiving - slamming into him with all the fury of the twelve million deaths he was responsible for.

 

Erwin feels himself lucky to have even this: because the kind of monster he is, he deserves to have horses trample him and trains run over him. This - this death, is a good one. A mercy, almost, one that he does not deserve after everything he has put his countrymen through, despite his slogans ‘ _to help free the Russian people_ ’.

 

That was never his motivation; he realizes this now, though he is not sure that Levi does (and he does not want to break it to him). This? This was not help. It was cruel and selfish and absolutely heartless. A war that he could not - would not - back down from, even as Russia burned beneath his feet.

 

But he had won, at least. Yes, he had won. The Red Army had prevailed, chanting Erwin’s name in the air like a psalm, even though there would be no more place for religion inside the new Soviet Union. People needed clarity, yes, and that clarity would not come from the words of the bishops and clerics. Would only come from the unselfish dedication of oneself to work, work, _and only work_. For Russia. For the Motherland.

 

Erwin wants to laugh at that thought, because now, mere hours from his death, he lays his head on Levi’s leg, prostrates before him, like he is a deity capable of turning moments into eternity.

 

But he isn’t. Because the sun comes up anyway.

 

And when the first rays of sunshine finally fall on Levi’s chest, Erwin allows himself one more selfish act.

 

“Do you ever think about what we could be, if we were not soldiers, Levi?”

 

Levi takes in a deep, shuddering breath, but does not answer.

 

“If we were not Russian, and we were not born in this time. If we could just… exist,” Erwin reaches up to press his palm against Levi’s cheek again. “Like this,” he whispers, and Levi melts into his touch. “Not as Russia’s villains,” he continues, “Not as history’s villains-”

 

“You’re not a villain, Erwin,” Levi finally breaks his silence.

 

“But I am. Don’t you see, Levi? I’ve ravaged my homeland, kept this war raging for more than a half a decade. And for what? The people still aren’t free. They will never _be_ free,” Erwin’s voice starts trembling, “There’s always - something. Some regime, some structure, some boundary - between people and freedom. I knew this.” It is at this confession that Erwin’s voice finally breaks. “I knew it,” he swallows a sob, “and I kept going on, never thinking how many were dying. In Moscow. In Petrograd. In Ukraine. In Crimea. In Siberia. In Latvia. In Lithuania. I could keep going but -”

 

“What?” Levi snaps. He moves Erwin’s head from his lap, and envelopes both his hands around it. “Would you rather have those capitalist bastards take over this country, then?” he continues, his voice almost angry, “Or no, maybe you would like the monarchy back? The one that lived in abundance, while the rest of the country starved to death? What about their deaths, huh? Every Tsar who slept with his stomach full while people died by the millions because it was too cold to grow food, what about that, huh?”

 

“Levi-”

 

“Save it, Erwin. You’re not the villain. Don’t pretend you are. But what we’re fighting against - what we _have_ been fighting against all our lives - _is_.”

 

Erwin stares at him, at the quiet fury in his lover’s eyes, and nods slowly, placing his hand over Levi’s on his cheek.

 

“What if it makes no difference?” he asks.

 

“What doesn’t?”

 

“My dying.”

 

Levi takes in a cold breath and presses his nose up against Erwin’s, closing the other man’s eyes with his thumbs. “We cannot help but be afraid of the future, Erwin,” he says, his breath warm against Erwin’s lips, “All we can do, is trust that the sacrifices we make today won’t go wasted. And, _the people_ we make the sacrifices _for_ , pick up the scraps where we could not.”

 

Erwin does not know whether it is what Levi says, or _how_ he says it, but with Erwin’s eyes closed, his words affect him in a way that no one else’s ever have - and after today, never will. He lunges forward, catching Levi by surprise, and kisses him again.

 

Erwin does not realize until that very moment that he had been _afraid_ to die. But right now, with Levi’s body pressing warm against his, and his kiss sweet and without even the barest taste of remorse or longing, he realizes something else:

 

When you are uncertain, you are afraid. The darkness you are about to set foot in, seems like an enclosing cage, a vacuum that will swallow you up, and leave you with only regrets and what-ifs. If you comprehend the darkness, however, it seizes you. Only he who does not comprehend it, fears the night. When you comprehend it, when you stare into the abyss, you become utterly simple. The shells of Commander, and Captain, fall away. The weight of a nation, the weight of a history, is lifted. And you prepare to sleep through the millennia like everyone else. Ordinary skin and bones that were never once anything more than mere mortals.

 

The clocks chime again, and Levi’s whispers get muffled within them.

 

“This is the last service we will ever ask of you, Erwin.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Are you afraid?”

 

“No. Not anymore. Thank you, Levi.”

 

Erwin opens his eyes, and Levi is staring right into them, his gray orbs glistening in the sunlight.

 

“Are you?” Erwin asks.

 

Levi shakes his head. “Not afraid, no.”

 

“Then what?”

 

The man pauses.

 

“Sad. Just… sad.”

 

It’s so simple an answer, but it breaks Erwin’s heart unlike anything Levi has said yet.

 

“What’s the point of my strength,” Levi continues, “if I can’t save you?”

 

There’s a lump in Erwin’s throat but he fights it and answers, “Save yourself. Run away from all this, Levi.”

 

“But -”

 

“I’m not asking you for a promise, Levi. This is an order. I know what you are capable of. Please, please… just save yourself. I will die, and no one else will have to suffer.”

 

Levi nods. “But what about me? What about my suffering?”

 

Tears start falling down Erwin’s cheek too. “If there was something I could do about that, I would,” Levi lets out a quiet sob next to him. “But I guess, we will just have to be brave. Won’t we, Levi?”

 

Levi nods, and they stay like that arms entwined, holding on as tightly as they can… until the sun demands their attention and they cannot ignore it any longer.

 

* * *

  
  


Levi pulls out Erwin’s pressed military uniform from the cupboard and helps him put it on, before getting dressed himself. The undershirt, the loose gray pants, and the white dress shirt, and the gray jacket on top of it, he slips on every item of clothing slowly onto Erwin’s body, smooths out the wrinkles - even when there aren’t any - just as an excuse to touch the hard ridges and muscles lying underneath Erwin’s skin. He reaches his arm around his tall, lanky figure, and ties the red-and-white belt around his waist, to secure the jacket tightly in place. He fixes his collar, pins the star shaped badge with the ‘hammer-and-sickle and the four diamonds’ insignia indicating his rank and title, on his chest. He smooths out the epaulets on his shoulder, and then picks up each one of his ten medals and pins them slowly on his left side.

 

Levi does this almost everyday, behind the closed doors of either his or Erwin’s quarters in the barracks. And despite the occasion, Erwin finds no difference in his ritual today. Levi bends down, and tells Erwin to sit on the edge of the bed, and pulls his shoes out from under it. He takes Erwin’s foot in his hand, and slips on one shoe, and then the other, tying each one’s laces, and taking care to properly fold the cuffs of his pants before he gets up. He grips Erwin’s shoulders again, makes him stand, and picks up a safety pin from the dressing table and folds back the empty sleeve of his missing arm, pinning it underneath his armpit.

 

When he is done, he steps away, turning around to fetch his own uniform, but Erwin stops him. Catches his wrist, and twirls Levi towards himself in a gesture that would have been romantic, had it been any other day.

 

“Erwin -” Levi protests, but Erwin wants to remember this, even if in a few hours, his memories will not matter at all. So, he kisses him again, and again, and again, till they’re breathless once more, and Levi’s objections have died in his throat.

 

When he lets him go, Levi moves towards the cupboard, for real this time, and pulls out his uniform, quickly pulling the garments over his head.

 

“Levi,” Erwin interjects, and the man pauses his movements. “Go slowly.”

 

And so he does. Allowing Erwin this memory, pulling on each item of clothing, treating his body with the same care and softness that he gifted to Erwin’s, taking his time - even though, at this point, they may as well be borrowing from the universe.

 

But the universe asks for payment - as it always does - and the two have no choice but to succumb to its evil designs. When they’re dressed and decent and done, Erwin declares that it’s time. And Levi leaves his room first.

  


* * *

  


They take different cars to the procession; as Commander and Assistant Commander, they are given that luxury, though today, the two of them would have been happier without it. So, the next time Erwin meets Levi is on the stage.

 

The Commander-in-chief of the entire military is standing on the podium, giving a speech. Something about a new day, and a new horizon for the Soviets. The end of the darkness that was the Imperial reign, and a new Communist regime that benefits all. The people in the crowd seem tense, like there is something violent brewing, and there are more eyes trained on Erwin than on the Commander-in-chief.

 

The man finishes his speech, and at the far corner of the stage, someone hoists up the new Soviet flag - a red field, with a small star and a hammer-and-sickle on the top left corner.

 

On the speakers, someone starts playing the anthem. And all of a sudden, the crowd goes quiet. The shrill, crisp sounds of the opening trumpets cut through the strings of this pin-drop silence. Levi stands up next to him, and so does he.

 

Erwin’s legs tremble, his body hyper-aware of what is about to happen. His fellow comrades, including Levi, have their right hands pressed to their chests, and they are singing together. But Erwin seems to have forgotten the words.

 

“ **_Vstavay, proklyat′yem zakleymyonny_ ** _,_ ” the crowd sings. “ _Stand up, the ones who are branded by the curse._ ” Erwin tries to follow, but in vain. His hands clench into fists at his side.

 

 **_“Ves′ mir golodnykh i rabov!_ ** _All the world's starving and enslaved!”_

 

 _“_ **_Kipit nash razum vozmushchyonnyy._ ** _Our outraged minds are boiling.”_ Erwin’s palm has begun to sweat. He cannot concentrate.

 

 _“_ **_I v smertnyy boy vesti gotov!_ ** _Ready to lead us into a deadly fight -”_

 

A soft hand touches his, fingers lacing together, and Erwin almost flinches before he realizes who it belongs to - the unbelievable tenderness in the touch, something he would recognize even in this state, even as the angels of death seem to call out to him.

 

Erwin turns his head to look at Levi, sees a reassuring smile looking back at him, even though there are tears welling in his eyes, and Erwin finds the strength to smile too.

 

 _“For the princess!”_ someone in the crowd shouts.

 

Erwin feels something pricking into his skull, sees a splatter of blood across Levi’s wide, horrified, eyes, and then -

 

 **Silence**.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "The Death of Koshei, the Deathless" is a Russian folktale. Very interesting to read, if you want to check it out.  
> The Russian anthem, as quoted here, is not the same as the anthem today (which was only made official in 1944). Before that, the Soviet anthem was ["The Internationale"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Internationale#Russian_lyrics) .


End file.
